Sanitation Duties
by Lyrigol
Summary: When the latest janitor is honorably discharged, FN-2187 was promoted to sanitation duties. It's an honor everyone said, their masks fixed forward, breathing carefully regulated. An honor if you liked giant tentacle hell beasts. His bunkmates whisper, barely suppressed laughter vibrating through the air. A few days later and FN-2187 was resigned to his fate of being tossed around


"FN-2187, it is a pleasure to welcome you to sanitation duties. First things first let's clear up some rumors. There is an open position not because some bedtime monster got the last sod, but because somebody got too old and couldn't keep up anymore." The trooper stopped to glare at FN-2187, looking absolutely disgusted by what she saw, "Only the best are on sanitation duties. Only the best."

Hours later, her words still echo inside his head. If only the best gets to wrangle with trash monsters, FN-2187 doesn't want to be "the best". All he was armed with was the basic training all troopers received. Maybe that's why recruiter just dismissed him minutes after meeting him. FN-2187 wasn't going to last regardless of what Captain Phasma was thinking when she approved of his transfer.

When he first received the news he was going to be transferred to sanitation duties, he was ready to relax, thoughts of cleaning the hallways filling his mind. It was going to be an easy job.

That was when he started hearing the horror stories traveling through the cafeteria. Rumors of how yet another poor Stormtrooper was snatched up by sanitation duties only to end up like the last one. Torn to pieces and recycled. Some of the tales were hauntingly familiar, one that he had heard so many times. FN-2187 never realized that it had to do with sanitation duties. Admittedly, he wasn't alone with thinking that being put as a janitor was going to be easy, there were plenty of other wide-eyed listeners. None of them were enthralled for the same reason he was. It was startling to realize that all of those hypothetical troopers was going to be him.

Now that he has the hushed whispers stirring through his mind, the innocent looking door in between him and the trash compactor was the gateway to his death. One of the older sanitation workers nudges him forward. Probably happy that they didn't have to delve into the trash to scare up the latest beast.

The door slid open, smooth and quiet. The leftovers of lunch was splattered everywhere, oozing into every crevice and adding to the wet muck pooled in puddles, marking where he can walk. FN-2187 grimaced. He's going to be up for hours cleaning his armor so it's to the standard regulation. If he was any other bystander watching a trooper pick through this mess he would have felt a rush of sympathy and understanding. But he isn't a bystander and he is the one who has to wade through this muck. His helmet was not able to hide the heavy sigh.

He took a step in, immediately looking back. His partner just looks towards him, helmet giving nothing away. Only after a long moment of silence broken by the wet plops of trash sliding into the lunch puddles does FN-2187 turn around again, this time with an entirely new distaste for trash. He doesn't know how long it has been since the trash compactor had been cleaned, but he was willing to bet never. The filter on his helmet has never been more appreciated. He nudges at a nearby pile, not expecting much to happen. The snapping jaws and the flying legs promptly knocked him onto his ass. He doesn't quite remember what happens, but his partner must have gotten a clear view as FN-2187 was still screaming when the twitching body was lifted off of him.

"Might want to clean off your armor now."

* * *

FN-2187 discovered that the sewage from the trash compactor was the least of his worries, at least when it came to polishing his armor. The green stains of the trash centipede (as his partner called it) left an ugly splatter of green liquid across his armor. The leftover rag and cleaning supplies in the closet did nothing for his poor helmet. Just thinking of parading his armor around with stains made him drop it in disgust.

His partner — still in pristine white armor — slapped his back while his helmet distorted their laughter.

"And the rookie was knocked over," they said, static crackling as they took in another wheezing breath, "I got it right in between it's beady little eyes!"

At this point their arms flailed around as they reenacted exactly what went down, narrowly missing the rickety storage units. FN-2187 scoots further away, calculating the distance between him and the door.

"The splatter of it's brains was incredible! We'll probably never get the stain out."

Another voice rang out from deeper in the storage room, "Good thing it's just the trash compactor, no one cares about that. It's not like General Hux is going to come by to check on our work."

His partner reaches out to place a comforting hand on FN-2187's shoulders. "In a rare moment of seriousness, I know! Absolutely shocking. But rookie, this is probably the worst we will ever see.."

"Don't worry FN-2187," the voice from the darkness drew closer, and FN-2187 saw that it was the same lady who introduced him to the sanitation crew. "Rathars and the like never make it to our trash compactor. Captain Phasma would have it skinned for her collection long before it manages to get all the way over to us."

If that was supposed to reassure FN-2187 in any way it had failed.

* * *

When he finally got his armor clean he stumbled into the cafeteria. The sudden hush was enough to draw him out of his usual single-minded focus on his portion of rations. The stares didn't become any less obvious when he looked back. As he snatched up his lunch tray, he realized that the _incident_ was already common knowledge. The silence gained a menacing air, and the stares weighted him down. That trash monster was his first kill outside of the simulations, and if FN-2187's nickname ends up being Centipede Wrangler or something terrible like that he might just die of shame.

He chose to sit at the table closest to the cafeteria's doors, and the agonizing moment of silence passed, for most of the troopers could no longer see him. The chatter starts up once more, if a tad quieter than usual. FN-2187 gulps his portion down in record time and leaves the cafeteria before any of the restless looking troopers could work up the nerve to sit next to him.

* * *

The overwhelming interests in FN-2187 died sharply, after it became clear that he wasn't going to end up at the medbay with life threatening injures. There were a few bold troopers who would salute him as he passed by. He finally allowed his partner's words of reassurance soothed him, and each trip to the trash compactors was relatively uneventful. Just an occasional big rat to blast into smithereens.

Then it happened again. At that point FN-2187 was slightly better at picking out which sound meant "normal trash falling" and "creature movement". This time he shot before he could even pinpoint where it was. The scream told him that he didn't miss, but the teeth cracking right through his armor told him that the beast was still alive. FN-2187 shot again, this time with his partner's fire flying overhead.

The small, wriggling multi-limbed animal bit down on his blaster, with all of its mouths occupied. FN-2187 pulled the trigger. There was no time for the animal to go through its death throes, not with it's head blown off..

By the time the body was disposed of and his armor replaced, the base was buzzing with the latest gossip of how FN-2187 faced yet another threat and eliminated it. Rumor has it that the beast he fought off this time was so large that the only way to dispose of it was to cut it up into pieces and toss it into the incinerator. Any attempts at correcting the rumor only added to the legend, the bored Stormtroopers eagerly characterizing him as humble.

All of that attention only increased with his time spent of active sanitation duties. The vermin just keep cropping up, and FN-2187 was quickly convinced that someone was smuggling in all of these creatures as an attempt to sabotage Starkiller. Shooting at any trash that moved soon became instinct, eliminating quite a few of them, but the animals became larger and more dangerous. Each skirmish produced yet another tale that gets passed around the cafeteria. FN-2187 has become a Stormtrooper legend. The worst thing that came with all of this attention was how just about any Stormtrooper is able to pick out who his is by posture and voice.

What he didn't realize at that time was that Captain Phasma started noticing him, even nodding once to him as she passed by on her daily rounds. After being part of the sanitation team for a month, FN-2187 found himself being promoted to a squadron leader. That didn't really mean anything changed, just that when there was combat he would be called on. In the meantime, his schedule has been changed so he would have time to run simulations with his squad. Having their respect instantly thanks to his trash monster wrangling made everything smoother. Didn't make it any less weird.

Months later, when FN-2187 marched into the detention cells, he finally appreciated the honor that came with being on sanitation duties.


End file.
